


Where the Rain Goes

by Rodetta



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Help me pls how do i tag, No Smut, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, because I don't think I could write it and keep a straight face, we'll see...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 00:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20985803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodetta/pseuds/Rodetta
Summary: "Piece by piece, small things begin to slip under Biorna’s tunic sleeves. Nettles poke into her skin and make her uneasy. Where once she had stood calm and firm, she now wavers and thinks a second too long. Her sleep is hounded by someone calling a name she can’t hear, and she longs to cry back."Biorna has been in service to her Master, Danarius, for over the past year. She has no memory of the before, and has not had the desire to know. She is a tool to be wielded and wielded she shall. Where her mind has been quiet, however, it suddenly begins to quietly slip into things she doesn't know. There is something, or perhaps someone, under the surface that she needs answers to find. Biorna knows that Danarius is on a quest to find his 'wolf', Fenris, and after remembering him- now Biorna is as well. She journeys to Kirkwall to find a truth she didn't know existed.





	Where the Rain Goes

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this OC for many years- since I actually played DA2 about the second time. I'm not sure if this is too Mary-Sue, but it is an idea I've had for many a time and I've finally decided to write it. Because I enjoy the idea. I live for angst, and this sort of prompt leaves you with TONS of options for it.

She squeezes her palm, causing bright blood to drip onto the ground. She stands, a young woman, with sleek white hair that is neatly tied away. Black is her color, adorning every item of clothing on her person. Her right palm is completely drenched in thick crimson blood. A fuzzy memory, drifting on the edge of her consciousness, makes her think this should be wrong. Biorna flicks her wrist to rid herself of her victim’s blood. Behind her, a looming shadow grins- its eyes shining with mischief and delight. He steps forth. Here, they call him Danarius. To her, she calls him Master. Rough edges tug at her again. She thinks she sees green in her mind’s eye. There’s children laughing. Her master snaps at her. She stands tall and lets the brief interruption fade from her memory.

For a year, Biorna listens.

She does not hesitate.

Master tells her that a slave has done him wrong. She does not flinch.

Master yells that she has done him wrong. Even still, she does not flinch.

The strange tug on her mind eases day by day. It becomes easy to be what she is.

Biorna is a tool. She serves her Master. That is all.

There is no part of her that sees the moon, and thinks that it means peace. She does not see a little brother in the eyes of the children slaves, nor does she see a sister. Biorna does not seethe after hearing her Master’s words. She only listens for command.

Biorna is a tool, and she serves her Master. Of course, that is until she doesn’t.

It began as a whisper. The apprentice Hadrianna had sneered at her, how she ‘wished he could see you now.’ Biorna had thought it odd. Master sees her everyday.

She follows Master. She serves as his shadow. Hadrianna did not realize what she’d done, but muttering those words. A perfect blank slate suddenly had a drop of ink- an accident, that meant nothing- but didn’t it? A blank paper has no direction. It is adaptable. It is alone. Hadrianna had not meant the Master, and Biorna had no one else but Master. So who had she meant?

It is two weeks later. Biorna rests quietly eating her dinner in a corner of the servant’s kitchen. The cook eyes her warily, as they always do. Biorna pays it no mind. This cook had been very careful to avoid Biorna for the entire year she has been there. The white-haired woman could not recall encountering her more than three times. Biorna does not talk to the servants. Her Master had told her not to. Few of them speak to her, and cease trying when she does not answer. None try after they see the demonstrations Master has her do.

The cook is cleaning. Her eyes do not stray from Biorna long at a time. No matter the dirty rag in her hand, she seems to be unable to look away. Finally, Biorna raises her head and meets her stare. What has this servant so attentive?

The cook fumbles her dish. She does not drop it- though she comes very close. She is not old. Biorna would guess she was about five years ahead of herself. The cook had freckled skin and dark hair. From her understanding, this particular cook was safe from some of Danarius’ more...advanced punishments. She was not here forever. A payment for a debt owed, but one that would end in a fury if Danarius truly harmed her. She still belonged to another Magister in lawful terms.

Perhaps that is why, the cook finally dares to steady her voice and speak.

“You weren’t always like this.” The cook says it so quickly, as if those words have been burning her tongue. “They’ve lied to you. I swear to you, I tell the truth.”

Biorna does not answer. Her spoon halts on its path to her mouth, however, and she fixes the cook with a long stare. The cook does not waver, though Biorna sees how her hand nervously twitches just a bit.

“Your name was Marion.” The cook offers, with such a desperate gaze, and said so gently-

Biorna feels that tug. Something off in the distance stands at the corner of her eye, and she thinks it is the cook- wearing a small smile and eyes of laughter. Laughter was never safe, not here, and yet-

Biorna does not finish her meal. Instead, she stands and abandons the kitchen. She leaves her bowl for the cook.

Piece by piece, small things begin to slip under Biorna’s tunic sleeves. Nettles poke into her skin and make her uneasy. Where once she had stood calm and firm, she now wavers and thinks a second too long. Her sleep is hounded by someone calling a name she can’t hear, and she longs to cry back.

Biorna has accompanied Danarius on many ventures. It is nothing new. Yet, Hadrianna joins them- and she enjoys prodding at Biorna. It is somewhere beyond Tevinter, is all Biorna knows. The destination is not her place to know. Danarius is to meet at an Inn to discuss his missing wolf.

She has heard about this wolf before. It is an obsession, she thinks, of Danarius. He speaks often of the wolf. Sometimes, he looks at her with an evil glint in his eye as he grins. He says that he deeply wishes for the wolf to meet her. She replies by blandly agreeing, and never stops to think. What is the wolf? Why would he wish for them to meet so badly?

They are at the Inn, awaiting in one of the rooms. Danarius’ contact enters. It is a scarred elf, older in years. He seems slightly unsettled by the sight of Biorna. It is nothing new. Most people halt for a moment when they spot her. She is uneasy looking. Stark white hair. Forest green eyes. Moon-colored lyrium tattoos that cover her in swirls. Dark armor, imposing in appearance just the way Danarius likes. She has dark fur at her collar and at her hip, but little else says anything ‘friendly’ about her. She very slightly nods her head at him to ease his discomfort. He appears to relax slightly. Danarius does not catch her movement.

They are speaking as they normally do, of the wolf and its whereabouts- when the scarred elf catches her eye for a moment. “Fenris has reportedly gone to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches.”

A moment passes, and Biorna has to blink to realize she has not been physically struck by something. Her head feels fuzzy and dizzy. She has heard that name before- plenty, in fact. Her inner voice repeats the name, and it brings that same stretched feeling. She wants to turn, to try to see it better but knows she’ll never catch it. She sees a gauntlet-covered hand and dark skin. Light tattoos stretch above it, and similar spiky armor catches her eye at the shoulders. It’s all she can see but she hears a voice underwater. It’s talking lightly, trying to be friendly. Dark, gravelly. Running water outweighs it though and she can’t understand.

Biorna strains, furrowing her brows together. She is unaware of the room now. She is trying to see the hand better, to not see the blurry edges of the spiked fingers. It is reaching for her, that she knows- and she accepts it. She sees the tattoos.

Fenris.

Her mind says the word, and it is no longer a stranger. It is not a word. It is comfort. It is familiar. She can’t see his face, but she hears the smile in his voice-

“Clumsy, are you?” Mocking, as amused as he dare be-

Her lyrium tattoos flare- alighting the room in a light blue haze. She hears it go quiet. Biorna returns to herself and spots Danarius absolutely bloody fuming. He is already moving on his feet, angrily shouting- and the slave reacts.

She moves with just a few quick strides. She slides behind Danarius, and immediately shoves her powered hand into his chest through his back. The room is on high-alert now. Hadrianna and the scarred elf are both standing, looking at her intently. Hadrianna orders Biorna to let Master go.

Coals left forgotten to get cold and dusty are suddenly struck with a new spark- and Biorna glowers. It is not a fire, just the flicker of a flame- but it is enough.

“He is not my master.” She growls, and using him as her shield, she makes her way to the room’s window, as the scarred man stands between her and the door. There is little to save her. In a matter of moments she has gone from respectful slave to rebellious dead woman. Her only true defense would be to kill Danarius here, and hope she could take the other two with herself.

That is not the desired outcome. Biorna needs to find this Fenris, and see if he has more answers for the sudden out-flowing of questions. Her magic sparks between her fingers and she wonders if it would be enough.

She pauses only one moment- and then she is releasing Danarius, shoving him forth with all her strength. The next moment, as Hadrianna is directing a magic blast in her direction, Biorna has already released her own that tears open the wall behind her and sends her targets flying towards the other end of the room. She has lept through the hole she made as her enemies are still gathering themselves, as others of the Inn are hollering to find out what just happened-

Biorna assesses her situation. This is a small Inn, on a stretch of road. Trees are on either side. They thicken most to her left, to the back of the Inn. If she wants to escape, she needs to confuse them and lose her trackers quickly. She takes off for the thicker bit of trees, pushing her legs to carry her as hard and fast as they physically are able. Biorna can hear the hollers behind her. She can hear the boots of men being rounded up- because of course, she knew that the scarred men had left his group behind to meet with Danarius. They would be upon her in moments and she needs to lose them as soon as possible.

Branches whip her in the face. Bushes tug at her trousers. Her hair gets snagged once or twice, before Biorna quickly pulls a dagger from her belt and slashes at it when it is too tangled to quickly fix. She still has to rip herself free in the end, but she manages to cut most of it. Pain sears at her scalp but she pushes onward. She has never truly been in the wilderness. She goes where Danarius goes, and he would never subject himself to such a thing unless absolutely impossible to avoid. Biorna doesn’t know if her weaving will truly get them off her trail, or if she will have gone in a circle and end up directly back at the Inn.

Regardless, Biorna runs. She does not stop. She pushes forth, dodging and jumping over stumps and boulders. She scares off a deer that had been happily grazing until it is panicked by her approach. Biorna continues to run. She can hear her heart in her ears. Fear does not allow her to hear what it has to say. If it was calling desperately for her to stop so it wouldn’t burst, she wouldn’t know. Instead her panic drives her forth and she seeks only for a word she had never even thought until five minutes ago.

Freedom.

She runs, and she is free- and the world feels only barely different.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So, I'm leaving this as a one-shot for now, but I do intend on writing more. I actually was going to do more for this chapter, but it felt like the right note to end on. Also, because it's 11:34 and I need to go to bed. I am glad that I finally have a somewhat finished legit chapter about a character I've had in my head for a while now. I've just written snippets, here and there. I can't promise i'll write more but I will try. I don't write that often. If you're still reading this, then thank you very much! I really appreciate you taking the time to read something I had fun writing and hope you enjoyed it too! Leave a comment if you'd like! Thanks again for reading!!
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr @ https://rodetta.tumblr.com/


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